Should I bring a résumé  of my dreams
to the publishing company on West 38th?

An abstraction of when my teeth
crumble like pastels, or summaries of my
vocal cords seeking air through a taut fabric.
I’ve achieved piercing silence in a room of white noise.

I have an impressive inventory of witnessing infidelity.
once, we were both in between romantic partners.
I was awakened by the taste of copper
from biting the inside of my cheek.
It looked worthy of an aged Merlot.

My most admirable skill is prediction.
I can sense a mass shooting or the expiring heart of a loved one.
but I usually float like an island over the scene
because my biggest weakness is lacking density.

the ringin g in          my              he ad       doe snt stop
it                   is                              so            lou d
a const a nt              dea d           s i lent  soun d
              eee e e e e e e e e  e  e    e            e          e           e             e                            
                          e e                      e ee                                     e e

         b                          w w aa                 a         a               a       a        
   a                        a                          ­ a    a                         a  
                                         w         a  a  
                   a            a                    a        a        a            ­  a               a  b      b


i   fe el               w eightl es s
im no t            m y se lf                                                          
p l ease          le ave         m e                                alo ne

  i wa n t                 t o                       be                       f ree                                  
  i t                hurt s                                      so mu ch
                             

i ca nt                                   h ear                    
i      am n ot                                         m e                  
i dont wa nt to            c ry
a     ny                                               mor e
                 i    m    sor ry

i h ad to  te ll the m
.


.


.



y                
                                        o      ­        
   u

                                 
     s      
                ­                                            h
                                o
                                                                ­                     u
                                     l
     d                                  
   n
                                                    t
         ­               
      h
                                                  a
                   v  
                                                             ­                                     e
                                                               ­     s
                  a
                                      ­            i
    d
  
                               m
y
                                                               ­                                             n
                  ­                                                  a
m      
     ­                             e

The    physical     alienation
tilts  the entire spectrum of
  internal   parallel universes
  Which    generate  limitless  
  scenarios   of   "perhaps"-es
  and  bittersweet "what if"-s
  Up to the  point  where  the
  outside  dissolves   into   the
   inevitable           acceptance
ItAllMeltsWithinThisWhiteNoise